Thus, Mikhail made another scene as he outlasted everyone in the Muscle Refinement Room, going until he directly passed out from the intense pain coursing all throughout his body.
Beforehand, he had requested that Atticus help him, because he intended to train until failure every day from now on.
Atticus seemed hesitant at first, doubting his words, but when he heard Mikhail's unconscious body flop onto the ground a while later, he realized just how serious he was, and quickly helped him take the Muscle refinement pill.
An hour later, Mikhail woke up. His body barely felt functional. His limbs felt unresponsive, his mind felt slower, and doing even the simplest task seemed to take everything out of him.
YET!
He stood up, he went to the training area, and he participated in duels all the same!
Mikhail got his ass royally beat. He took fatal blow after fatal blow. Over and over again, he found himself staring at the dazzling blue sky above. Every single time, without fail, without question, he lost.
People started to feel bad for him and took it easy on him… And he won those matches. And just like that, they rescinded their generosity. Didn't he realize he should've graciously accepted his losses? Why did he continually strike to kill, even in that pitiful state?!
Why was he so vicious even when they had decided to be nice to him?!
He should know his place…
After that, the beatdowns continued without remorse. Yet he still got up. He still pushed himself forward. His mind felt drained beyond belief but he kept going anyway.
The sun eventually reached its zenith, and the Muscle Refinement Camp disbanded… Save for one beaten and bruised dude, the instructors, and a certain dude.
"Mikhail, look at yourself. You're going to fall apart at this rate!" Alaya said with notable amounts of worry in her voice.
"I don't care! I need to keep going! Pain is temporary, gains are not!" he yelled out his answer, his voice hoarse.
"Tch…" Alaya spat to the side. "You're such an unbelievable handful."
"Mikhail, seriously kid, you need to rest. You've done enough for one day," Atticus said
"I'll help him train…" Tybalt said with a bit of an embarrassed tone.
The two elites looked at the young boy strangely.
"I flaked on him yesterday."
A light of recognition flashed across their eyes. "Ah, right. Tybalt. You were supposed to help him yesterday, right?"
He nodded, readying his battle-axe.
"Sorry about yesterday, Mikhail… I was a little too exhausted and spaced."
Mikhail nodded, using his spear as support. "I guess you let Amir know since I don't see him anywhere."
"Yeah."
There was a silence for a brief time as Mikhail slowly took his stance too.
"Say, where have you been all day, anyway?"
"I… I'm…"
Tybalt's fighting stance faltered as he let his battle-axe hang to the side.
"It feels awkward, hanging around you guys. Everyone is so much more talented than I am, and I feel like I'm not even really part of that group," he said while scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
Mikhail rolled his eyes.
"Teenagers…" he muttered under his breath.
"Listen, dude. Shit is only as awkward as you make it… Now stop being a nerd and let's go!"
Mikhail stomped down before shooting forward, sending ripples of pain through the muscle fibres in his legs.
Tybalt's gaze grew sharp as he quickly resumed his stance, shifting it to get ready to counter the incoming strike. And then, he swung the battle-axe diagonally upwards, intending to meet the incoming stab.
Yet at the last second, Mikhail's hand glided across the pole of the spear. His grasp became firm at the last second as he pulled back.
Tybalt's swing missed. Yet Mikhail's stab forward wasn't halted. The momentum of his leap flowed into his arms as he planted his feet on the ground as firmly as he could, the soles of his caligae scraping against the arid ground under him.
Mikhail's stab forward was only slightly delayed!
Bang!
The tip of Mikhail's spear met with the head of Tybalt's axe. He had curled his arms inwards, taking a shallow cut into his chest to protect his heart.
Mikhail grit his teeth as he felt the impact reverberate through the spear and into his arms.
His arms spasmed and his grip on the spear loosened, and at that moment, Tybalt swung the axe away from him, swatting the spear to the side as he charged forward. Mikhail tried to keep hold of the spear and pull it back towards him, but his fingers twitched.
The spear flew out of his grasp.
And in the next instant, Tybalt's axe tore through the muscles of his chest.
"Agh, fuck!"
Mikhail's pained shout came out as a partial growl as the polished edge of the onyx axe grated against his ribs. Tybalt had turned the chop into a slice as he pulled the axe down and away from Mikhail.
A white mark had been left behind on Mikhail's skin, which had stretched to accommodate the impact he just endured.
Mikhail made no efforts to retrieve his spear just yet, even if he was given room to breathe. Because Tybalt was going for another chop. Resisting the pain as his leg spasmed violently, Mikhail kicked outward.
He struck Tybalt in the stomach, and spun on his other heel as he brought his foot back down. Mikhail scrambled, quickly taking hold of his spear once more, only to get struck in the side of the abdomen this time.
He felt the impact in his ribs yet again, and a kick threw him to the ground.
"Nice try!"
Tybalt's axe came down yet again, slamming into the leg and snapping the ligaments of his knee.
Mikhail rolled out of the way as another swing came down, but a stomp put an end to his shoddy defensive technique.
With another swing to the head, Mikhail's consciousness went dark for a short while.
The two trained for hours and hours like this, and Mikhail failed to win even a single duel.